


Truth and Facts

by ladyofbrileith



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofbrileith/pseuds/ladyofbrileith
Summary: When Alex confronts Michael with what he's learned from his father, and asks for the truth, Michael has a choice to make. Does he lie, relay the facts, or tell the truth? And how will Alex react to any of the above?





	Truth and Facts

Flames writhed within the fire pit, and Michael stared into them like they held the answers he’d searched for all his life. They'd never been there before, so it seemed unlikely they'd show up now, but he found himself doing it anyway. A beer bottle dangled from his hand, mostly empty like its counterparts in a row alongside his chair, mixed in with a couple of empty bottles of nail polish. He’d finished the whiskey last night, hadn't bothered to go out to get any today, and right now that seemed like a bit of a shame.  

The crunch of gravel barely registered at first. Probably Max. But the engine didn’t sound quite right for that, and when it shut off and the door opened, neither did the footsteps that came toward him with an uneven rhythm. It was a familiar one, though, even as it made his heart hurt.

Pulling his gaze from the flames, he raked it over Alex Manes standing there, looking at him like Michael had gone and murdered a litter of kittens. Fan-fucking-tastic. What had he done now? Nothing he could come up with bad enough to deserve this, unless…Unless Liz had told Alex the truth.

Fuck if he was going to just ask, though, so he arched an eyebrow in inquiry. “Something I can do for you? If your engine needs a tune-up, I’m afraid we’re closed for the day, but we can maybe work something out." His lips curved in a bit of a smirk, making it clear the double entendre was intentional.  

Alex did not look amused, just stood there watching him, with a file folder in his hands that made Michael even more wary.  

“Is it true?”  

“That we’re closed?” Michael gestured at his line of beers, and, oops, nail polish bottles. Whatever. “Uh, yes. It is well past business hours.”  

“Not that.” As much as Michael liked looking at Alex, he hated how hard he was to read. Never play poker with him, Michael decided.  

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, then.”  

“What are you?” 

Ouch. Not  _who—_ what. Michael’s chin went up, though he couldn’t hide the flinch, the tightening of his muscles, the sick feeling in his stomach. He tried to, by lounging back in his chair more, propping his foot up on the fire pit, trying for nonchalance.  

“Currently? An off-duty mechanic.” Almost pulled it off. Maybe.  

“Where are you from?”  

Yep. Michael was pretty sure Liz had found a way to punish them for Rosa.  

“I don’t know. In case you missed the thrilling story of Michael Guerin – I was found wandering in the desert and tossed into a group home.”  

“Don’t play cute, Guerin.”  

There was nothing cute about it. Even spelling out that much of a reminder of his past hurt, and Alex’s dismissal of it stung. Anxiety twisted in Michael’s gut more, and his fingers tightened on his beer bottle.  

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

“You’re lying.”  

That sent guilt coursing through him. He’d never wanted to lie to Alex. He  _wanted_ to tell him the truth. This? However he’d figured it out? Was not how Michael wanted this shit to go down.  

“I’m not lying, Alex. I  _don’t know_.”  

Truth, but to an earlier question. With those questions, he was pretty sure what Alex was getting at, but Michael would be damned if he didn’t make Alex spit it out. He did, however, push to his feet, setting the beer bottle down.  

“Then why don’t you explain this?” He held out the file folder toward Michael, demanding he step closer to take it, though once Michael had, Alex stepped back, a flicker of something Michael didn’t like in his eyes.  

Michael flipped it open, stared at all the damning speculation. Someone had a fucking  _file_ on him? The “terrorist” bit was particularly nice. “I can’t explain this shit, Alex.” He didn’t see anything saying “alien” in there, necessarily, at least at first glance. “Where did you get this?”  

“My father.”  

“Oh, of course. And you’re going to believe something –  _anything_ – he has to say about me? I’m not a terrorist. I’m not, in fact, plotting to overthrow the government. I thought you knew I was kidding. Jesus. And I haven’t ever killed anyone, so.” Not actively. He threw the file folder in the fire. “But none of that is what you actually want to ask, is it?”  

Alex stayed silent.  

“Go ahead,” Michael stepped closer. Alex retreated, and Michael’s gaze narrowed. “Ask me the real question.” Maybe, just maybe, he was wrong, and Alex didn’t know. If this was about something else, maybe, he’d tell him anyway, reckless as that would be.  

Michael watched Alex’s throat move as he swallowed, once, and then the words came. “Are you an alien?” 

Even though he’d demanded it, Michael felt it land inside him like a lead shot. His breath caught, and Alex faded for a moment, before everything slapped back into focus. He could lie, of course, now that the actual moment was here, but he was tired of lying by omission, wasn’t going to start lying outright, too.  

“Yes.”  

The word hung there between them, and he watched Alex take it in, watched his world rearrange, and Michael  _still_ couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He didn’t follow it up with anything, let it  stay like that, looking to see where it might go.  He wanted to defend himself, but he wasn’t even sure from what. The thought of being a  _terrorist_ , sure, but he couldn’t believe Alex actually thought that was true. He wouldn’t be here, alone, asking, if he did, would he? Unless he was wearing a wire and this was all a set-up, but…no. Alex wouldn’t do that. He had to believe that if he believed anything.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was not the question Michael expected, and it was the first crack he’s seen in Alex since he arrived. The seventeen-year-old boy peeked through the wounded soldier, and he was just as wounded, but this time by Michael’s silence.  

Michael took a beat, then shook his head as his shoulders slumped in the face of Alex’s hurt, giving in and dropping the posturing with a sigh. “We had one rule: never tell anyone.” He hesitated, because he’d wanted to tell Alex in their brief time back together. Max had broken the rule; he’d wanted to, too, but he couldn’t say that, not in full truth. Because if Alex got this from his dad, Liz  _hadn’t_ told, and Michael didn’t want to be the one to tell Alex another of his friends had hidden something from him. But he could tell the important truth. “I wanted to. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to tell. But…I didn’t want to freak you out. Send you running away any faster than you did.”  

Alex frowned at that. “So, it wasn’t because you didn’t trust me?”  

What could Michael say? “I trust you.”  

And, Jesus, that should’ve been the hardest thing he’d ever admitted, saying words he’d never said, but the truth came out without hesitation.  

“Then  _tell_ me.” Alex stepped back in, closer. “I want to know. To understand.”  

A sharp laugh escaped Michael at the irony. None of them  _understood_ any of it. Alex seemed to take it that Michael didn’t believe him, because he took another step in. A note of awe, of fascination hid behind the questions now. “Where are you from? What is your world like? Why are you here? Are there others?”  

“Max and Isobel.” It was the only one of those questions he could answer, and that very fact added to the building turmoil inside him 

“Of course.” Alex murmured it, looking for a moment like things were falling into place. “Any others?”  

Michael took a breath, fear creeping in a bit to add to the turmoil. “Now this sounds like an interrogation…”  

Alex held his hands up. “It’s not, Michael. I’m not…I’m not here for anyone but myself. Just…tell me, please.”  

“I can’t.”  

Alex’s frown was back, hurt sparking a bit in his eyes.  

“Why not? You  _can_ trust me.”  

Michael turned away, paced around the fire pit, swiped up his beer again and drained it.  

“Guerin…”  

Even the name sliced in and added to the storm. All the words he’d held back for so long trembled, and hadn’t Isobel just said a lot of them, a primal crying out of the despair all three of them felt, but rarely gave voice to?  

“You know that’s not really my name, right? It was the name of my first foster family. The system kept that, even when they didn’t keep me, ‘cause no one knew anything else to call me.”  

Alex was frowning again, but he reached out to catch Michael’s arm as he passed, stopping his restless movement. “What is your name, then?”  

The question was soft, but it was the spark that turned his inner storm into something he couldn’t hold in. Michael pulled away from Alex, spun on him, and the words came out, without any care or choosing.  

 “I. Don’t. Know, Alex. I don’t know where I’m from. I don’t know what I am. I don’t know if I have parents or was spawned or cloned or put together in a lab by some advanced AI. Even my  _first_ name? It’s what the group home gave me, because I was seven, and couldn’t speak, and didn’t know anything about myself. They asked me what my name was, and I couldn’t even say ‘I don’t know.’ I don’t have any memories before climbing out of my pod and taking Isobel’s hand.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending the curls into more of a mess rather than fixing any tangles. Alex was a little blurry in front of him, but Michael tried to blink the sudden tears away.  

“I don’t know why we came here. I don’t know if there really were others on the ship, or if that’s part of the hoax. I don’t know if there are others  _out_ there who got away and left us behind. I don’t know if I have a planet that exists, or if it exploded like fucking Krypton. I don’t know if we were coming here looking for a new home, or coming here to invade Earth, or just flying through the solar system on vacation and the ship’s engine blew a gasket, and we crashed and my parents and everyone who loved me died because there’s a fucking amazing beach on a planet somewhere on the other side of this solar system that they wanted to sip space margaritas by.”  

He had to stop for a breath, took in Alex’s stunned expression, and tried to sound a little less like Isobel having a breakdown. But he wanted—no, needed—Alex to understand—needed it so badly, the tears actually fell, damn them. He’d told Isobel this; might as well tell Alex.  

“When I was a kid, I used to hitch a ride out to Foster Ranch and sit there, looking up at the stars,  _waiting_. Max and Isobel had a family, but I just…that was the last place I had a family, the last place I was loved, and I’d just…wish and pray that someone would come back for me; that someone would take me home.” Another shaky breath, looking away, before he met Alex’s eyes again, squarely. “It’s not that I don’t want to answer your questions, Alex.  I  literally  can’t. Not because of some big secret—you know the secret now. You know as much as I do. Hell, with your dad’s info, you probably know more.  The file’s wrong in the particulars, but he obviously knows  _something._ I want to be able to tell you everything…but I don’t know  _anything…_ ” 

The words could have kept coming indefinitely, but he realized he was repeating himself and stopped, then, much as he needed it, couldn’t breathe while he waited for the fallout, for Alex to figure this was the ultimate reason for walking away—they weren’t even the same  _species_ or whatever. He was aware his cheeks were wet, but he didn’t look away from Alex, chin lifted and feeling both broken and desperate to be believed, to be seen.  

For the longest moment, Alex just stared at him, brows knitted together in a frown, with no sign of what he was thinking on his face. It twisted Michael’s guts up and set them to writhing until he was certain he was going to be sick, and not from nerves but sheer horror, when any hope of anything good in his life was obliterated. Disappointment was a familiar friend; rejection a constant companion, and no one had a better reason for it.  

When Alex moved, Michael tensed, bracing himself, even though the movement was slow. Alex reached up a hand as if to touch him, though he froze short of it, that frown still there, though now that he was closer, Michael saw the answering shine of tears in Alex’s eyes. Another heartbeat, and Alex’s fingers made contact, brushing lightly through the wetness on Michael’s cheek before his hand slid to cradle Michael’s jaw. His other mirrored it, until he was holding Michael lightly, his thumbs brushing tears away. Michael stood frozen, still, as Alex leaned in, but at the first brush of the other man’s lips, he could finally draw in a shuddering breath, could finally move again.  

His arms slid around Alex as he pressed close, and he couldn’t even be ashamed by the soft sound that escaped him that resembled a sob. Sliding one hand to twine in Alex’s hair, he felt dampness on Alex’s cheek that suggested Michael’s weren’t the only tears making their way into the kiss, and that broke the last piece of the dam he’d been building and bracing for twenty years.  

Michael Guerin didn’t cry. Hadn’t shed a tear since that night ten years ago. Hadn’t shed many before that night ten years ago, either, because that shit did not go over well in the homes where he’d so briefly lived. But the taste of Alex Manes crying  _for_ him did him in. He had to break the kiss as the sobs he’d held back for two decades surged free. There wasn’t any chance he could stop them, and, realizing that, he buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck and clung to the only lifeline he felt he had.  

Alex’s arms tightened around him, keeping them both up, as he rested his head against Michael’s. His hands soothed through Michael’s hair, up and down his back, and he pressed a kiss in those tangled curls. Murmured words trembled in the silence of the night, only loud enough to be heard over the harsh and broken sounds Michael couldn’t seem to stop.  _It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure it out, together._ Unspoken, but just as clear in the strength of Alex’s arms, the press of his lips, lingering in the space between the other words came a promise:  _I won’t let him hurt you again_.   


End file.
